Under The Weather
by Selenology
Summary: A little h/c piece of fluff in which Harry falls ill during his third year. WIP. Gen.
1. Quidditch practice

Disclaimer: These characters belong to J. K. Rowling and her publishers. In no way am I trying to infringe on her rights, nor am I making any money out of this even though I could really use it.

Author's note: This is a little shameless h/c piece of fluff which I just had to get out of my system. Feel free to leave reviews.

* * *

**Under The Weather **

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry muttered, turning away from the voice dragging him from a deep and much needed sleep. "Go 'way, Ron. 's Not morning yet..."

"Harry, come on. It's practice time." Hands shook him.

"Whah?" Harry slurred. He opened his eyes to slits and squinted at the seventh year Quidditch captain. "Wood?"

"Yup. Go on Harry, I want you down at the pitch in fifteen minutes."

Harry looked at the clock with gritty eyes and groaned as it showed him it was only five thirty. "You can't be serious, Oliver."

"Oh yes I am," said Wood, looking rather hysterical as he went along. "The match is only a month away, you know that, and we need the practice to beat Slytherin. It's my last chance and I'm not going to let a little sleep destroy my last chance ever for the Cup. I've let myself slack off often enough and now this is my final go at it and-"

"All right, Oliver, don't pop a vein. I'm coming," Harry grumbled, pushing his comfortable duvet back and shivering in the morning chill that permeated the bedroom.

"Okay, jolly good, off to wake the girls then," Oliver said, a sort of dark gloom settling over his features when the moment drew near of having to drag three Gryffindor girls, who were definitely not going to thank him for waking them at this hour, from their beds. But, determined as he was, he set his jaw and marched from Harry's bedroom.

Harry, still half asleep, traipsed to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and to brush his teeth. Looking in the mirror he saw a white face with dark smudges under his eyes looking back at him, and he grimaced at the unruly mop of hair that stuck up every which way. He tried to flatten it with his hand, but gave up soon enough, knowing it was a lost cause anyway. After getting dressed and fishing his broom from his trunk, he threw a envious look at Ron, looking blissfully asleep in his four-poster, and dragged his feet down to the common room.

He found the twins waiting for him and the others. They murmured a ''mornin'" and Harry joined them in waiting for Wood and the girls, yawning and slouching over the sofa's until the rest of the team trudged down and they sleepwalked down to the Quidditch pitch together. Even the twins weren't as rambunctious as normal, and Fred was only just saved from drunkenly walking into a suit of armour by George, who grabbed him forcefully by the scruff.

"Oliver, shouldn't we get Madam Hooch to o-o." Katie yawned loudly. "Oversee the practice? You know, because of." She motioned a hand towards Harry, who ducked his head.

"She's going to be furious if we wake her up at this hour," George chuckled.

"So what?" Fred piped up. "We're up. Why should we be the only ones to suffer?"

Oliver - looking revoltingly awake and chipper except for the nervous twitch at his left eye - contemplated this. "I think we should just let her sleep. I mean, we're all there to keep an eye on Harry, and we all brought our wands right?" He looked at the rest of his team.

"Right," they all echoed.

"I doubt even a mass murderer would be up at this hour anyway," Fred muttered grumpily, while the girls shared worried glances.

"We can tell her about tomorrow morning's six o'clock practice and she can decide if she wants to join us then," Oliver decided.

They all groaned.

"You're going to kill us, Wood," Fred grunted, and he grabbed Harry's arm just as Harry was about to blindly go down a staircase on the right, steering him back into the right direction.

"Yeah, well," Wood said grimly. "Better me now than Slytherin next month." Which no one could really disagree with.

More collective groans were heard as they stood at the exit of the castle, taking in the depressing state of the weather. It was still pitch dark, the sun not even near rising, and rain steadily fell from the sky with no evidence that it was going to clear anytime soon. Looking miserably at each other the team allowed Wood to herd them out onto the muddy path to the Quidditch pitch.

"Remember," Wood said. "Last time we played and the weather was like this we lost!"

"We lost because a few hundred Dementors decided it was snack time, not because of the weather," Fred muttered darkly.

"Well, Harry sorted that problem out, didn't he?" Wood said, turning on Harry.

"Yeah, sort of," Harry hedged. "It's an ongoing project, like."

"Yeah, Harry's got it." Wood affirmed. Harry grimaced behind his back.

Soon they were all too soaked to even care that they were wet, and reaching the pitch they resignedly kicked up into the sky, Wood all the while reminding them that it was actually a good thing the weather was this dismal. After all, there was no saying whether the weather wasn't going to be exactly like this on the day of the match, and at least this way they were trained in dealing with it.

Everyone studiously ignored Wood's optimism and huddled on their brooms, flying bent low over the handle and squinting to keep the rain from lashing into their eyes. Even Harry, who had put Hermione's Impervius charm on his glasses to make them water repellent, could hardly see a thing in the thick rain. It took him the entire practice to catch the Snitch, and even then it was only because it had flown directly into the back of Wood's head and the captain had shouted for Harry to come get it.

Things hadn't been going particularly better with his team mates. They had lost the Quaffle three times, once having to look for it for at least twenty minutes before Alicia finally found it in the rafters. Fred accidentally sent George flying off his broom with a misdirected Bludger, landing George in a puddle of mud the size of a small lake. George in retaliation had pulled Fred in with him when his brother had come to see if he was alright, which left them both caked with mud, their hair turned into brownish dreadlocks plastered to their heads.

Wood was looking crushed at how bad the practice had gone, and eventually even the last vestiges of his determination had been dispelled by the fact that he was soaked and freezing. When he finally dismissed the team, he looked ready to lie face down in the mud and choke himself.

"Go on, Oliver," Katie told him, pulling him along. "We'll do great tomorrow, you'll see. We're just having an off day."

"Yeah, I mean, how long can it possibly keep raining like this?" said Harry, huddled at Angelina's side, using her to shield him from the wind. "At some point the sky has got to run out of water."

"This is Scotland." Fred said cynically.

"It can rain like this for days," added George.

"Weeks," said Fred.

"Months."

"Years."

"Oy, enough of that," Alicia said, scuffing both Fred and George simultaneously on the back of their heads. "Let's get back in and dry before we actually do drown out here. There might still be time for breakfast."

"Ooh, food!" Fred and George both vaulted onto their brooms and rocketed to the castle, the rest following after somewhat calmer, but not by much.

Unfortunately it was later than they'd thought, and except for Angelina and Katie, who had their first period free, the others barely had time to go and get changed before classes, let alone have breakfast. Harry didn't even have time for that, as he realised he had double potions first that morning, and he could never get up to Gryffindor tower and back down to the dungeons in time for class if he did. He gave his Firebolt to Fred to take to his dormitory and, commiserating his misfortune, trudged off to the staircase that would lead him down to the dank classroom. He thought grumpily that he hadn't been hungry anyway, and he also mentally prepared himself to the barrage of insults that was bound to come his way, knowing that Snape was going to give him hell for dripping puddles in his manky, smelly dungeon.

TBC


	2. Of haircare and potions

Under The Weather - part 2. See part 1 for disclaimer.

Thanks to those who have already reviewed. I do appreciate it.

* * *

When he arrived at the classroom he found most of the other students already waiting for Snape to let them in. The Slytherins started sniggering as soon as they caught sight of him.

"Hey Potter, decided to take a shower with your clothes on?" Pansy jeered. "Can't stand to look at yourself can you?"

"Potter, if you were trying to drown yourself, you failed," Malfoy smirked at him. "Try harder next time, will you."

Crabbe and Goyle gurgled trollishly at Malfoy's side.

"Oh, enough with the wit already," Harry muttered to himself as he sloshed by and rolled his eyes. He sought out Ron and Hermione, his sneakers squishing embarrassingly with every step.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing him. "Whatever happened to you?"

"Quidditch practice," Harry offered, wringing out a sleeve, causing water to splash on Ron's shoe.

Ron jumped backwards, shaking his foot. "Raining, is it?" he asked dryly.

"You could say that."

"Well, you can't get in class looking like that!" Hermione berated him, staring disdainfully at his bedraggled state. "You're all wet!"

"Well, what do you suppose to do about it, Hermione?" Harry asked her exasperatedly. "There wasn't any time to change. It's either this or skive class. Which do you prefer?"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione sighed, pulling out her wand. "Exaresco!" she said, pointing her wand at Harry.

Instantly, the water soaking Harry evaporated in a hissing cloud of damp, leaving his robes feeling coarse and creased and his sneakers still caked with dry mud, but otherwise completely dry.

"Thanks," he sighed to Hermione in relief, frowning when he caught sight of Ron's face, which was reddening with suppressed mirth, little choking sounds erupting from the back of his throat. "What?" Harry asked, wondering if his friend's head was going to implode.

Ron just pointed at Harry's head, using his other hand to bite in and control himself. Harry turned at Hermione who was studiously examining the cracks in the floor, evading Harry's look and bringing up a hand to cover up the twitching of her lips.

Harry brought up a hand to feel at his hair, expecting the worst.

His hair felt… poofy to the touch, like a big pile of fur, standing on end as if a great big blow-dryer had just detonated in the middle.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped, bringing both hands up to his head and pulling his hair flat, only to have it spring right back to its former fluffy position. He jumped behind Ron to hide himself from the rest of his classmates, keeping both his hands clamped on his hair. "What did you do?"

"Oops?" Hermione said, grinning openly now.

Ron tried to stop his laughing by stuffing his fist in his mouth, sounding as if he had a bad case of the hiccups.

"It's not funny!" Harry hissed, trying desperately to flatten his hair. "Hermione, fix this!"

"What do you expect me to do?" she asked, getting her giggles under control and slowly realising the situation she'd put her friend in. Though he was no longer soaking, he looked like he had an angry cat the size of Crookshanks on his head, and Snape and the Slytherins were bound to give him hell for it.

"I don't know!" Harry said agitatedly. "You're the one with the bright ideas. Just reverse the spell or something. I'd rather be wet than look like this! And will you stop that!" he directed at Ron, who was slowly turning purple.

"Oh, I know," Hermione brightened. "Minima Pluvius," she said, and a dribble of water started pouring from her wand. She held it over Harry's head and wet his hair, forcing it to lie flat in straight wet strands. "There, it should just be normal again after it dries naturally. Well, as normal as it usually gets, that is."

Harry ignored that last comment and felt his hair with his hands to make sure the fluffiness was gone. With a sigh he relaxed against the wall. It didn't seem as if anyone had noticed what Hermione had done or why he'd been hiding behind Ron.

"Go on, Ron, breathe," Hermione urged the hyperventilating redhead worriedly. "You can do it."

"Oh, honestly," Harry rolled his eyes, and smacked Ron on the back of his head.

"Oy!" Ron gasped. He then started laughing in a somewhat more normal fashion. "Whether you like it or not, Harry, that was bloody hilarious."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Harry smirked, then couldn't help but grin at Ron's obvious amusement now that his sticky situation had been reversed.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for being too cheerful this early in the morning," Snape bellowed as he swooped down the hallway to the potions classroom, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow of darkness.

"That's completely unfair!" Hermione piped up at the injustice of this, her voice rising over the exclamations of the other Gryffindors. "There's no rule against laughing in the hallway!"

"Make it ten for being disagreeable to a teacher, then, Granger," Snape lashed, making them all cower under his gaze. "And that will be another ten if you dare to open your mouth, Potter!"

Harry closed his mouth with a snap and swallowed the words he'd been about to say. It probably wouldn't have been a good idea to utter them anyway, so he settled for glaring at Snape with as much distaste as he could. Next to him, Ron was lamenting the fact that they always had potions first thing in the morning when Snape's mood was at its foulest in frustrated whispers, interspersed liberally with a few choice words which he definitely hadn't picked up from his parents.

Obviously the potions master cared not a fig about the Gryffindors' silent death glares, for he opened the room and stalked to his desk, ordering the class to make haste and pull out their textbooks. After briskly showing them how to make a hair-care potion - "if he can make it, then why doesn't he bloody use it?" Ron whispered to Harry - he set them to work, each at their own cauldron.

After his frustration at the cantankerous teacher had settled down to a manageable level, Harry found himself rather losing his energy too. Though his little trial with the fluffy hair had momentarily woken him up, now that he was sitting down and working on something incredibly precise and boring, he rather wished he could go back to bed and sleep the day away. Not only was his hair not exactly drying in the dank dungeon, but it was also very cold down here, making him hunch over his desk to try and keep warm and occasionally blow warm breath on his freezing hands - it was hard chopping up roots when your fingers were too numb to hold your knife. How the Slytherins managed to actually live in a dungeon was beyond him, though he thought it might account for their foul moods and icy dispositions.

"You'd think with all the cauldrons on fires there'd be a bit more warmth around here," Hermione whispered on his right, rubbing her hands together. Harry nodded, suddenly feeling miserable as shivers stole down his spine. He decided that first thing after classes, he was going to kill Wood, then luxuriate in bed all weekend long.

He was carefully adding three droplets of Belladonna extract to his potion when he accidentally sneezed and dropped his full flask in the bubbling concoction. Immediately the potion turned a violent purple and with a 'poof' exhumed a cloud of smoke in the shape of a mushroom. Bubbles rose increasingly violent to the rim of the cauldron. Eyes widening, he turned to look directly in Hermione's horrified face.

"Duck!" she squealed, diving under her desk.

Knowing Hermione was not one to mess around, he dove after her, as did those Gryffindors who heard her warning call. The last thing Harry saw before disappearing under his desk was the Slytherins' surprised faces and Snape turning around and bellowing what was going on.

KLABAM! The cauldron exploded. Harry closed his eyes in horror, hearing it rain on his desk, waiting for what was no doubt to come.

"POTTER!"

TBC


	3. Purple goo and Flobberworms

Under the Weather part 3.

* * *

"POTTER!"

Harry winced at the furious shout. He looked sideways to see Hermione grimace at him, and then pull up her shoulders, signalling that he might as well get it over with.

He collected himself off the floor and glanced over his desk. The room was a wreckage, drenched with the frothing purple potion everywhere. It was dripping off shelves and desks to the floor, the steady drip-drip-drip sounding loud in the shocked silence that followed the explosion. He noticed that most Gryffindors were peeking over their desks just as he was, as were some Slytherins who'd trusted Hermione's judgement well enough to follow her shouted advice. Most of the Slytherins hadn't, though, and they were sporting the signs of purple goo all over them. Snape stood amongst them, droplets of the stuff dripping down his greasy hair and off his big conk of a nose. The Potions teacher was covered in the stuff from head to toe. Harry swallowed with difficulty.

Snape seemed so angry that for a moment he was incapable of speech. His mouth was set in an angry growl, his hands clenched at his side. If he'd had fangs, Harry was sure venom would've been spouting from them.

Finally Snape seemed to get a grip on basic vocabulary, but only just barely. "You!" he growled at Harry, pointing a claw-like finger at him. "Thought to ruin my class, did you? Thought to have a bit of a laugh, did you?"

"I didn't...!" Harry started to object, only to be cut off by Snape shouting: "Shut up! You demolished my classroom! Detention! Tonight! You better be here at nine or you'll wish you were never born a wizard in the first place!"

Harry pulled his mouth in a tight line, knowing objecting would only land him in more trouble. He caught a glimpse of Malfoy from the corner of his eye. The blond was trying to slap purple goo from his ears. Despite his predicament, Harry had to try not to smirk.

Snape was pulling deep breaths through flaring nostrils, calming himself. Everyone was rooted to their spots, afraid to attract his attention. A drop of purple stuff hung precariously off the tip of his nose. "Everybody out!" he snapped. "This room will have to be sanitised! Get changed before your next classes!" He looked around furiously as the students cowered before him as deer caught in headlights. "Well? Get out!"

There was a scramble as everyone jumped for their belongings, not minding if purple potion covered their books and bags, and stampeded out the door.

Snape banged the door shut behind Hermione, who was the last one through. It shook precariously in its hinges but managed not to fall out.

Ron, Harry and Hermione stood looking at each other in the hallway, taken aback by what had just happened.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, shaking her bag to get the potion off.

Ron shook his head. "Leave him alone, Hermione," he said. "It was an accident. A tremendously stupid one, but still."

"Gee, thanks Ron," Harry said moodily, but he let his shoulders hang in resignation. "Some day I'm having," he complained finally.

Hermione looked at him with sympathy, and shrugged. "It _was_ an accident. Don't let it get you down, Harry," she said benignly. "Let's get out of here so we can clean this goo off our stuff before next class."

The boys nodded and started after her. Those students who'd been hit were still standing in the hallway too, trying to get as much potion off before walking to their common rooms.

"Nice going, Potter," Malfoy sneered darkly as the threesome passed him. "If you fly as well as you brew potions, the match'll be a breeze. Maybe you should let Longbottom have a go at it."

For once Harry couldn't find a suitable reply, and he just threw a saccharine look at the Slytherin.

"Don't count on it, Malfoy..." Ron snarled, not so resistant to get into it, when Hermione grabbed both of them by the sleeves and dragged them along.

"Just - let - it - go," she said angrily. "You want Snape to come out here and catch you fighting after what just happened?"

As if she'd invoked his spirit the classroom door opened with a slam and Snape's harassed face glared down the hallway, catching out the retreating Gryffindors.

"I almost forgot!" He said slimily, a glint in his black eyes. "Thirty points from Gryffindor!" The door was slammed shut again.

The Slytherins sniggered maliciously and Harry grew smaller still, even as he walked away with Ron and Hermione at his side, both loudly proclaiming the unfairness and sourness of Snape. It really wasn't fair. Even covered in purple slime, the Slytherins still managed to get a laugh out of _him_ instead of the other way around.

Their next class was Care of Magical Creatures, but since they still had some time before the start of the lesson, they hung around in the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione tried her best to clean their books from any purple spot that might have desecrated them. Harry sat glumly at the table, watching Hermione try spells from her Charms book (why she'd brought it was anyone's guess, as they didn't even have Charms today) and half-heartedly answered Ron's eager questions about that morning's practice.

"... and Wood charmed that picture to show you what it looks like, so did you-"

"Really, will you just knock it off, Ron," Harry finally snapped. "It was a disaster. I couldn't even see my own broom, let alone try a Wronski Feint."

"Well, excuse me," Ron said, taken aback. "Doesn't mean you have to bite my head off."

Harry sighed and dropped his head to the table. It made a satisfying thunk. He picked it up and dropped it again. Resisting the compulsion to do it again, he turned it so he could see his frowning best friend. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "It's been an awful day. I've been rained on, blew up my potion and landed myself a detention. And it isn't even lunch yet."

"That's okay," Ron said, placated a bit, though his good mood had dissipated in the wake of Harry's bad one.

"You don't look too good either, Harry," said Hermione suddenly, while never lifting her eyes off the last book up for cleaning. "Are you feeling all right?"

Harry lifted his head off of the table and raked back the hair that fell in his eyes with his fingers, only to have it fall back as soon as he dropped his hand. "Wood woke us up at five thirty this morning," he explained. "Wanted us down on the pitch, briefed and ready to begin at six."

"What? _Five thirty?_ That's insane!" Ron interrupted disbelievingly. "He's going barking over that Cup!"

"And a fat lot of good it did us too, with all that rain," Harry grumbled. "We're never gonna win if we play like we did this morning."

"No one's going to win if you play in weather like this morning," said Hermione sternly. "Not only might you catch your death of cold, but it's much too dangerous! You know what happened last time!"

"Yeah, Dementors happened," mumbled Harry darkly.

"Nonsense," Hermione huffed. "I don't understand why Professor Dumbledore let that game go on as long as it did anyway. You could hardly see a thing in that storm. You could have all got hurt, playing until that rain cleared or until one or all of you dropped from your brooms in exhaustion! Honestly-"

"Hermione, please," said Harry, rubbing both hands through his hair this time, setting it on end. "I've had practically no sleep and a headache to show for it. I'm really not in the mood for a lecture right now."

Hermione glared at him. Ron hastily interfered with the remark that it was about time to go down to Hagrid's anyway. The trio packed their things into their bags silently, except when Harry and Ron thanked Hermione for cleaning their belongings. When Harry told her they looked just like new, her glare softened.

Harry thought it was just as well they had class. With the foul mood he was in, he didn't doubt he might insult both his friends irrevocably before the day was over, and he really didn't mean to do that. But he hadn't been lying about his headache - it pounded steadily away just behind his eyes - and he really hadn't slept enough. His eyes felt gritty and swollen with tiredness. It made it increasingly difficult to stay focussed and not lash out his frustration at someone else. And it wasn't as if he could crash in his dormitory after classes, because he had both his Dementor class with Lupin, as well as a detention with Snape waiting for him that evening.

When the three of them stepped outside it did nothing to improve his temper. The downpour had stopped, yes, but it had been replaced by a steady drizzle that soaked one just as readily if you stayed out in it long enough. For the second time that day Harry stomped his way through the muddy puddles, muttering under his breath, pulling his cloak tight around him.

"Watch it!" Hermione complained as he splattered mud up the hem of her robes.

The students gathered in front of Hagrid's house, huddled close together to shield each other from the rain, while a considerable gap was left between the Gryffindors and Slytherins (who didn't look pleased at having changed their robes just to get them soaked through right after).

"Isn't there an umbrella charm or something," Ron muttered, wiping raindrops off the end of his long nose.

Hermione looked chastised when she told them "I don't know any," even though nobody blamed her. They didn't know any either.

Hagrid appeared from behind his house, holding his pink umbrella open above his head. "Everybody 'ere?" he asked boomingly, scanning the students. He looked really pleased about something, and not at all perturbed that his class was shivering on his lawn, getting wetter by the second. "This weather 'ere is perfect for the Flobberworms," he told them happily. "Yeh can all take 'em out fer a walk and maybe let 'em have a swim inner puddle. It'll build up their appetite."

Harry shared miserable glances with Hermione and Ron. He'd been hoping that Hagrid might put the Flobberworms in the shed, nice and dry, so they could have an easy time of it, throwing lettuce at the worms and drying up before lunch. The last thing he wanted was to take a Flobberworm for a walk in the rain. He didn't even think a Flobberworm could walk.

There was nothing to be done about it though, and Hagrid was already distributing worms to everyone. Harry accepted his Flobberworm and meandered off, looking for a nice puddle.

"Remember," Hagrid called to his students, "don't let 'em escape or drown!"

Harry rolled his eyes. How could a Flobberworm escape when it managed to move a striking distance of six inches an hour? And, honestly, who cared?

Most of the other students sought refuge under trees to keep dry and dumped their worms in nearby puddles. Harry followed this example and trudged to a large tree. He dropped his Flobberworm in a rainy patch, where it sank to the bottom, sticking one end out of the water - Harry wondered if perhaps that was the answer to the mystery of which side its head was on, though with magical creatures you could never know for sure - and the worm bopped with the tiny waves the raindrops caused. Harry huddled under the tree, which guarded him from the rain and draft quite well. He was still wet throughout though, and it didn't take long for him to start shaking with cold. He thought he might get warmer if he moved around a bit more, but he was loath to leave his dry spot, so he weathered it out, occasionally stomping his feet, waiting for the time to bring his Flobberworm back to Hagrid and get it fed.

It didn't take long for Hermione and Ron to join him under his tree. They put their worms with Harry's - Hermione's floated horizontally on the surface, Ron's swam circles around Harry's for a minute until it sank completely - and leant against the tree with him.

"I can't believe Hagrid's still making us study Flobberworms," said Hermione, while squeezing water from her, for once, flat hair. "I could be studying Arithmancy right now. Or looking up an umbrella charm."

"Or we could look up more facts for Buckbeak's case," added Ron.

Hermione and Harry nodded. They all looked glumly at each other, and then back at the Flobberworms.

"Can't you do that drying spell you did this morning, Hermione?" asked Ron, after they'd been staring at the immobile worms for fifteen minutes, shivering and wet.

"I could, but you'd just get wet again when we walk back up to the castle," said Hermione. "Anyway, this tree isn't completely waterproof either."

"Plus, you don't want your hair to explode," Harry mumbled, earning him first a glare, then a smile from Hermione, as she remembered what he'd looked like this morning.

"My hair doesn't need an explosion to look like that," she said good-naturedly. Harry and Ron chuckled.

"Mine could use some volume, though," joked Ron, trying to bob up his straight hair. "I feel out of place between the two of you."

"We're just making up for the fact that we don't have your natural vibrancy of colour," Hermione retaliated.

"Yeah, and contrary to you, we need the extra height," added Harry.

"So that wild hairdo of yours is nothing but a ruse to add length," Hermione giggled.

"I still say it'd be perfectly straight if he'd just pick up a brush, the lazy sod," said Ron, looking heavenward as if exasperated, knowing full well how Harry raged wars with hair and brush every morning.

"Lazy eh?" said Harry dryly. "I don't see you getting up at five thirty in the morning. Although, if it wasn't for your best friend the human alarm clock I think five thirty would be exactly the time you'd get up, but it wouldn't be in the morning, would it?"

"I have three words for you," Ron said grinning. "Purple goo explosion."

"Did you see Malfoy still has a big gob of it hanging behind his left ear?" Hermione remarked casually.

Both Ron and Harry stared at her. "No way," said Ron, turning steadily red.

"Oh yeah," said Hermione, looking satisfied.

Like one they turned to locate the pointy-faced Slytherin. Three trees over, Malfoy was scratching distractedly at his ear. Though it was too far off to actually see if there was still leftover potion there, the three of them simultaneously burst into laughter. Malfoy and several of his cronies looked up to scowl at them, but that only set them laughing louder.

TBC


	4. Showers

Under the Weather part 4.

* * *

After that the rain-sodden class didn't seem quite so drab anymore. Even though they eventually got their hilarity under control, it took only a shared look set them off again. Hagrid even had to wave them over to return their Flobberworms back into their terrarium at the end of class (Harry guiltily thought his had drowned until a wriggle and a spray of water proved otherwise).

Just as they were starting off back to the castle, the gates of heaven opened and rain poured down in a thick curtain. As one the Gryffindors and Slytherins bolted for the main gate, a scuffle ensuing when fifteen people at once tried to get through the door. Harry, Hermione and Ron sprinted in last, skidding to a halt to avoid running into the other students who had stopped right past the door.

Bedraggled, they looked at each other. Hermione slowly lowered her cloak, which she had pulled up over her head to protect her hair. Ron shook himself like a dog, making Harry and Hermione turn away to avoid the spray. Harry looked down at puddle that was forming where he stood and grimaced, resigned to his fate. It was just going to be one of those days.

"You think that got rid of Malfoy's goo?" Ron said, craning his neck to see.

Hermione grunted, wiping rain from her face. "If that didn't do it, nothing will. Sometimes I hate living in Scotland. Why couldn't it have been Waikiki? Heck, even Bournemouth would be an improvement."

"Say, Hermione, will you do that drying spell again before lunch?" asked Ron, wringing his sleeves. "I'll risk the hair in exchange for being dry."

"Yes, okay," agreed Hermione. "Maybe if I tilt my wrist a little in the swish and reduce the speed of my wand just a fraction in the flick the result won't be as exaggerated as before, do you think that would work?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other, shrugged, then turned back to her, each lifting one eyebrow.

"Oh, honestly," said Hermione, though fondly. "Who first?"

Harry stepped back and held up his hands. "Look, you go on ahead," he said. "But I'm going to catch a quick shower and change my clothes upstairs. I'll catch up with you later."

"But Harry, Hermione can dry your clothes just as quickly as she did this morning," said Ron. "You don't want to miss lunch, do you? You already missed breakfast."

Harry shrugged in his creased and itchy robes, starting to shiver again as the damp clothes' coolness penetrated to his skin. "You see how you like your clothes after drying them with that spell. I'm going upstairs. Anyway, I had Quidditch practice remember; I really want a hot shower. And if I hurry I might still have some lunch."

"Okay then," said Ron, a look on his face that clearly stated he thought Harry mad for quitting on food. "See you in a bit."

"We'll save you some toast," added Hermione, pulling out her wand to perform the Exaresco charm on her and Ron as they made their way to the great hall, while Harry gave a wave and turned up the stairs.

As soon as he was alone he dropped his pretence and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He really was freezing, more so than he'd been all day, and he was getting real tired of it too. His clothes felt rough against his skin and he wasn't bothered about lunch at all. Food was about the last thing on his mind. He was sure that a good long shower would clear the cold from his bones and soak the stress from his Quidditch-weary limbs. Much as he loved to fly, Wood was really pushing it a bit too far this term. They'd had four practices this week already, and the next waiting for them on early Saturday morning. Harry promised himself that Sunday he'd sleep 'till noon, while trying to suppress the little voice in the back of his head that insisted that Wood was very likely to plan a training then too.

"I'll stuff his head down Moaning Myrtle's toilet if he does," Harry muttered to himself, grabbing the railing near the top of the stairs as his vision blurred a little in dizziness.

He stopped a moment and blinked to get rid of the spots before his eyes. After a few seconds, he continued on his way. He really must be tired if the trek up Gryffindor tower was affecting him this way. He didn't usually get this out of breath, did he?

With effort Harry dragged himself up the last steps and rounded the corner to the Fat Lady's painting, keeping his hand on the wall for support and panting a little.

"You're looking a bit peaky," said the Fat Lady, eyeing him. "Are you going in for a lie down? I hope you did inform a teacher you'd be missing classes."

"It's lunchtime," said Harry distractedly. "I'll be down in time for next class. Antipodean Opaleye."

"Yes, yes," said the Fat Lady, sighing. "No one's ever up to a natter, are they?" But before she could get into it Harry had already slipped through the opening.

There was no one in the common room and he crossed it slowly, his head down as he tried to get his breath back and ignore the headache that was taking it up another notch. He made his way up to the dormitory with heavy feet, feeling very dizzy and puzzled because of it. He hoped he just needed a good sleep and wasn't coming down with something. With the amount of Quidditch practice scheduled, he really didn't want to get a cold on top of it. Losing sleep and getting rained on more than once a day was bad enough.

Entering the common room and catching sight of his Firebolt resting against his bed, he berated himself sharply. Rain or not, he loved flying and should be happy to do it whatever the circumstances, not complain about it all the time, even if only in his own head. If he had to choose between sitting dry and warm in his bed at Privet Drive or flying in sleet and hail at Hogwarts... well, it was no contest, was it?

He peeled off his wet clothes and padded to the bathrooms, squinting without his glasses. He hopped into a shower stall and turned the water on as hot as he could stand, immersing himself in the more than welcome heat. Harry sighed in relief as the hot water washed away the grime, sweat and rain, and his tired muscles relaxed under the massaging spray. He rinsed his hair and soaped himself up, then put both hands on the wall and let the water engulf and soothe him for a long time. Finally the cold that had crept into his bones retreated, and as the tension in his shoulders left him his headache lessened to a much more manageable level.

Reluctantly, he finally turned off the faucets and dried off. Back in his dormitory he dressed slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed. It would be so easy just to fall backwards and dose off, Harry thought. Just close his heavy eyes and let his body relax in the fluffy covering and forget about classes and boggarts and detentions. He felt very comfortable now, all rosy and warm and sleepy. He leant against one of the bed posters, closing his eyes a minute before setting off to lunch. . .

The next thing he knew he toppled sideways off the bed as a loud slam sounded through the dormitory.

"Harry!" said Neville, oblivious to Harry's close encounter with the carpet as he hurried over to his own bed. "Came to change too, huh? Just five minutes to class, you know. Where's my socks? Don't I have any other socks?" He disappeared head first into his trunk.

Meanwhile, Harry pushed himself off the floor and stood up dazedly. Had he actually fallen asleep sitting upright? He brushed his fingers through his damp hair, rubbed at his eyes, then shook himself and gathered his bag and wand. Somewhat bemused he watched Neville rage war on his wardrobe.

Clothes were spouting from Neville's trunk like a geyser, covering his bed and the floor. Finally Neville's head popped from the collar of his dry robes and he jumped into his trainers. "Ready to go then, Harry?" he said, panting.

Harry nodded, straightening his glasses. "Sure, let's go."

"You know how McGonagall hates it when we're late," said Neville, hurrying down the staircase, only prevented from tripping on the hem of his robe and rolling down the stairs by Harry's seeker-quick grab for his shoulder.

Four minutes later they slinked into McGonagall's classroom just under the arm of the exasperated looking teacher as she was closing the door. Harry slunk to his usual seat between Ron and Hermione and quickly fished his Transfigurations book from his bag, trying to ignore the fact that the short run to the classroom had once again made him dizzy and out of breath.

"Took you long enough," said Ron from the corner of his mouth.

"I was waiting for Neville," whispered Harry, skipping round the truth. He took slow breaths to get his equilibrium back, then noticed how Hermione's hair, which had been loose and flowing just that morning, was pulled back tightly and wound into a strict bun not unlike the one McGonagall wore. "Changing the swish and flick in that spell did nothing to help the hair problem, did it?" Harry managed to grin at her.

"Nope," said Hermione, looking disgruntled.

Ron chuckled. "It was worse than yours, if you can believe it." His own hair looked the same as ever.

"Oh, I can believe it–"

"Open your books to chapter 12, please!" McGonagall snapped, cutting off all conversation.

For the rest of the class Harry, Ron and Hermione had no more chance to talk, as McGonagall held her students on a tight leash, teaching them about transfiguring water into tea. Harry had difficulty keeping up, finding that sleeping upright for fifteen minutes in the middle of the day did not leave one feeling refreshed and rested. He phased in and out of the explanatory part, feeling his headache return steadily, and then performed his spells particularly unfocussed. By the end of class, when Hermione had managed an apple/strawberry blend, and even Ron had scrounged a weak brew, Harry was still staring dully at his, now slightly muddy looking, water. McGonagall wasn't pleased.

"You seem a bit out of it, Harry," said Hermione worriedly, as they made their way to their last class of the day. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I would if you'd stop asking me that," grumbled Harry, rubbing his temples.

"It's a normal question," Hermione said, looking at him.

"Well, give it a rest, will you?" said Harry

Hermione looked offended and stared at the floor before her. "Fine," she said.

But Harry was already regretting his shortness. "Look, I'm sorry," he said contritely. "It's just this headache I've got and it's making me cranky, I guess."

"Maybe you should go to the hospital wing," Hermione offered, forgiving him instantly. "Madam Pomfrey has about a thousand different cures for all kinds of headaches."

"Nah," said Harry, brushing this off. The last place he wanted to be was the hospital wing. He could just hear Madam Pomfrey going on again about how fragile he was to begin with. No way was he spending more time in there, he'd been there enough for the year. "Probably I just need some food and I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you missed breakfast _and_ lunch," said Ron, looking awed at the amount of food missed out on. "That can't be good."

"Just one more class and then dinner," said Hermione. "You really should eat something, Harry, it's not good studying on an empty stomach. And I've read somewhere that dehydration actually leads to a headache, so you probably just need to drink some water and you'll be fine."

"I think I've seen enough water today," said Harry, motioning to the window where the outside world was still looking decidedly wet. "Anymore water and I'll drown."

"Still though," muttered Hermione, but to Harry's relief she quit the subject as they entered Binn's classroom.

Harry was glad that the final class was History of Magic. It meant he didn't have to actively participate in any spell-making, that the teacher would pay him no mind whatsoever, and that he could afford not to pay attention at all with a clear conscience, for Hermione's quill scribbled down all the essential notes necessary. After half-heartedly listening to Binns for five minutes, he completely zoned out. After ten he rested his head on his arms on his desk, and after fifteen he was dosing the remaining time away.

TBC


	5. Soup, SleakEasy and Boggarts

The next chapter; it took me a while to get up, but here it is all the same. :)

I want to thank everybody who's taken the time to review and is still keeping up with this humble fic of mine. I appreciate each and every one of your comments, and hope that if you continue to enjoy (or, perhaps, not), you will drop me a line.

Selene

-----------------------

It was Hermione's hand on his arm that woke him up.

"Harry! Class is over." She seemed torn between looking disapproving and worried.

Harry sat up and blinked, brushing back his hair, making it impossibly messier. He looked at Hermione, got his bearings and suddenly sat up straight. "Oh! Er, I'm coming," he said, stuffing his book, quill en parchment back in his bag, wondering if he had creases on his face for sleeping on them, because Hermione sure seemed amused all of a sudden.

He pushed up from his desk and promptly had to grab it again to keep from falling over. For a moment stars shone before his eyes and he had to wait amoment for them to clear. He felt Hermione's hand back on his arm, and when he looked up at her she was frowning again.

"Stood up too quickly," he explained.

She only lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Let's go eat," said Harry hurriedly, trying to avoid more questions and worrying. Honestly, Hermione could be as bad as Madam Pomfrey if she wanted to. Soon she'd be feeling his forehead and tutting about his fragility. Well, Harry had never been fussed over at the Dursley's, and he sure didn't want people to start now. "Coming?"

"Fine," said Hermione, following him out the door. They joined Ron who'd been waiting in the corridor and joined the stream of students pouring into the Great Hall.

Luckily at the table Harry wasn't the only one who wasn't on the top of his game. His team mates looked about at pale and pasty as Harry must himself. Angelina kept hiding her face behind her arm to yawn widely, which Alicia then promptly copied. Katie was sneezing in a big handkerchief. At one point Fred's chair toppled over backward, and he didn't wake up until George and Lee had hefted him upright again and put some pudding before his face. The only one who looked awake was Oliver, who was gulping strong, black tea and scribbling madly in a notebook (planning more team practice, Harry thought sourly). Wood's eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he kept shooting paranoid glances over his shoulder, as if worried someone from the Slytherin team was reading over his shoulder.

When Katie fell asleep in her soup, Hermione huffed and turned to Wood. "Honestly, Oliver," she admonished. "Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit with those scheduled practices? You're hardly going to win if you're all asleep on your broomsticks, you know."

"Say what?" said Wood, straightening and shooting furtive glances behind him. "Slytherin is thinking about slipping us a Sleeping Potion?" He snapped his notebook shut and hugged it close to his chest while looking at the Slytherin table with narrowed eyes.

"Oliver!" snapped Hermione. "For heaven's sake, go get some sleep!"

"Oooh no," said Oliver, tossing spoonfuls of sugar in another tea and downing it. "They're not getting rid of me that easily! It's my last go for the Cup, you know. Can't leave anything to chance, can we? Gryffindor is due a win. Can't afford something as silly as a bit of sleep."

Harry dully watched as Hermione's eyes flared, recognising the start of an argument a mile away. As she started to lay into Wood – who looked rather taken-aback at the sudden barrage – Harry simply zoned out. Up until then he'd been playing with his food, not feeling very hungry at all despite having missed breakfast and lunch, but now he dropped his fork. He felt not exactly queasy, but certainly had no desire whatsoever to put any more food in his mouth. Instead, he sipped his pumpkin juice, while his head occasionally nodded to his chin and snapped back up as he kept dozing off. Those little catnaps he'd been taking hadn't helped at all.

Ron elbowed him. "Harry, look at Snape," he grinned, now that his attention had shifted from shovelling food down his throat to other matters going on in the Great Hall.

Harry lifted his heavy head to look at the teacher's table, but immediately noticed what Ron was pointing out. Snape's hair had never seemed shinier, sleekly and silkily framing his dour face .

Despite feeling miserable and dead tired, he dropped his head on his arms and started laughing unstoppably, muffling the sound in his sleeves. Ron was laughing soundlessly next to him, his shoulders shaking.

Hermione, after disgustedly realising there was no talking sense to a sleep-deprived and caffeine-high Oliver Wood, threw a confused look at the two of them. "What's up?" she asked.

Harry just pointed to Snape, while Ron managed to say: "Snape... The Hair-care Potion... "

Hermione followed their look, then quickly added her giggles to theirs. "You'd think he wouldn't look as grouchy now that his hair isn't so greasy," she offered. "He looks like he just swallowed a lemon."

"Anytime now," hiccoughed Harry, "they'll be asking him for a l'Oreal commercial..."

"Because he's worth it!" howled Hermione.

Ron was laughing madly with them, even though he mustn't have had a clue what they were talking about.

Across from them Katie woke with a snort. "Whassat?" she slurred, blinking. When she saw it was only Harry, Ron and Hermione huddling together and laughing, she dropped her head back in her soup and continued her nap.

"Okay, that's it!" shouted Wood. He jumped off his chair, tripped over his own feet, toppled backwards to the floor, and immediately leapt back upright, looking around suspiciously as if someone had booby-trapped his legs. Shrugging, he pointed at his team. "We are going upstairs and to bed, right now!"

"Oh, hallelujah," said Angelina gratefully, pushing to her feet.

"After going over this game strategy I just invented, of course," added Wood shiftily, ushering his groaning team members from their chairs (he shook Katie once, then twice, then, with a confused frown, a few more times until she finally parted with her soup).

The rest of Gryffindor tower seemed to take it as their cue that dinner was over and a loud chatter and scraping of chairs filled the Great Hall as students stood and left for their common rooms. Harry, after getting his hoarse chuckles under control when Snape was sending them furious glances – he was sure to have found out what was amusing them to such an extent – stood slowly and followed Ron and Hermione, still grinning, out of the Hall.

It was strange how a day that had been so awful so far still had its silver lining – and Harry felt slightly better for knowing that it had been an awful day for Malfoy and Snape too, especially since it had been so because of him. That exploding potion had at least been good for that.

Now that he was once again up on his feet and slowly making his way to the DADA classroom, however, his head was back to throbbing uncomfortably. It seemed to come and go. He wished the damn headache would finally decide to take a hike and set up house in a different continent. He considered asking Professor Lupin if they could postpone the lesson just this one time and he might get an hour sleep in before heading down to Snape's detention, but decided against it as he envisioned walking into the Gryffindor common room, where Wood would be drilling the team on game plans. Wood would blow a gasket if he saw that Harry wasn't doing his Dementor repelling training. He'd start lecturing him on making sacrifices for the well-being of the team, about taking all variables of failure out of the equation; of their (no, his) final shot at the cup; start frothing at the mouth... Over all, Harry didn't think it would lead him to either sleep or well-being.

So with a sigh, and a straightening of his back in the name of team-spirit, he pushed open the door to the classroom.

Lupin was just levitating the trunk with the Boggart to the middle of the room, his back to Harry as he entered. "Hello, professor," said Harry softly, so he wouldn't startle the man with his presence.

"Ah, Harry, good evening," said Lupin good-naturedly, parking the trunk and turning to smile at him. He at least seemed to be completely over the illness that had prevented him from teaching two weeks ago. "You're just in time. The boggart is at the ready, and I've got a new batch of chocolate, so we can begin right away. Your attempts at a Patronus have been getting better all the time. I'm sure it won't be long until it is completely visualised."

Harry muttered an incoherent reply, not so confident in his abilities as his teacher seemed to be.

Though Harry had successfully conjured a Patronus at the Ravenclaw match, Lupin had afterwards explained to him that it was quite a lot easier conjuring one when no Dementors were actually near. To Harry's frustration, this had proven to be quite clear during his next Dementor class, when, confronted with the chilling effect of the Boggart-Dementor and the screaming in his head, he one again managed nothing more than a silvery fog (which admittedly was clearer and better at warding the Boggart than before, but still not, according to Lupin, a true Patronus). Though terrifying Malfoy and his cronies had been rewarding, Harry was adamant that the true purpose of the lessons had been to learn to repel Dementors, not dressed up Slytherins. So, his classes had continued.

"Do you want to start right away?" asked Lupin, stepping away from the trunk to the side of the room.

"Yeah, okay" agreed Harry, pulling his wand from his pocket and holding it ready.

"Here goes, then, think hard of your happy memory." Lupin waved his wand and the trunk opened.

Harry cast around for a happy memory, but his mind was drawing a blank. Instead, it was aching distractedly, and he was acutely aware of how hot and uncomfortable he was, and how much energy it would cost to launch the spell with any sort of success. He was very, very tired.

From the trunk, the black, billowing form of a Dementor was starting to take shape. It pushed out, looming over Harry, sucking a rattling breath.

As the cold of the Dementor seeped in his already shivering frame, Harry hardly managed to bring up his wand, his hand was shaking so hard.

"Expecto Patronum," he said, his voice hoarse. "Expecto..."

But still no happy thoughts entered his muddled brain, and for the first time since his first classes he didn't even manage to shoot at least some white mist from his wand to keep the Dementor away and prevent himself passing out.

As the Dementor drew closer, its cold crept up Harry's arms and legs and seemed to chill the breath inside his chest. The familiar screaming grew louder, his father shouting at his mother to run, and his mother begging for her son's life. He welcomed them, willing away the cold and concentrating on their voices despite the terror that laced them. His vision wavered, and instead of the Dementor coming ever steadily closer he saw a flashing green light. And then it started over again.

_"Lily, It's him! Take Harry and run!"_

_"Not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now."_

Hands shook him, making him lose the voices and their desperate cries.

"Nooo," he moaned, his hands weakly pushing against those which were interfering with this connection.

"Ridikullus," he heard a floating voice say from far away.

Then the voices were gone, and he blacked out completely.

-------

TBC


	6. To the Hospital Wing

Under the Weather pt. 6

I want to thank everyone who's reading and reviewing so far. I'm so happy that you're still along to see this little fic finished despite me taking so long to get there. Every review is really appreciated (except the one that simply ordered me to "update," I can do without those kind). I hope you enjoy this next bit.

Selene

OoOoOoOoO

Very slowly he became aware of lying on a hard cold floor. "Come on, Harry, wake up," someone told him, while a hand softly shook his shoulder.

Harry opened his eyes and blinked against the light, instantly resenting whoever it was for waking him up. His head was pounding in sync with his heartbeat and he felt so exhausted he could hardly bring up the energy to shiver with the cold that permeated his body.

"All right there, Harry?" the voice asked, sounding rather concerned. Harry turned his head to look at Lupin's concerned face.

"Yeah," Harry rasped, and coughed a little to clear his throat. The boggart appeared to be back in its closet. He allowed Lupin to help him to his feet, mostly due to the fact that he didn't think he could have made it by himself, and leaned his weight against the nearest desk, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I didn't do too well, did I?" he asked, eyes cast downward.

"It's okay, Harry. We're still practising. Don't worry about it," Professor Lupin assured him, but he was eyeing Harry worriedly.

"Can I have another go, then?" said Harry, though he hardly felt able to lift his wand, let alone cast a powerful spell. He just didn't want to admit defeat this easily.

Lupin hesitated. He looked carefully at the boy standing, or rather sagging, in front of him. Harry was huddled around himself and barely seemed able to keep himself from falling flat on his face. His face was pale except for little flushed highlights on his cheeks, and his messy black hair hung damply against his forehead, for once completely covering his trademark scar.

"Have some chocolate first, Harry, then we'll see," he said, thinking he was going to cut this session short no matter how Harry argued. However, first he had to energise the boy a little, and he offered a large piece of Honeyduke's chocolate to Harry.

But Harry turned his head away from the chocolate, the edges of his mouth turning downward with distaste. "No, I'm really not hungry," he said, his voice failing him so all that came out was a whisper. He started to cough again and leant further against the desk for support.

Lupin walked over to Harry's side and kneeled down next to him. "You're not feeling too well, are you Harry?" he asked.

Harry was long past even trying to deny he wasn't alright. All he wanted was to lay his heavy, hurting head on a pillow and let the rest of the world go on without him. He nodded quietly, his vision wavering dizzily.

"How long have you been feeling ill?"

Harry shrugged a little. "Don't know… this morning, I suppose?"

Lupin placed his cool palm against Harry's forehead, and it felt so good against his burning skin that Harry gratefully leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

Lupin frowned, feeling the heat radiate off Harry's feverish skin. "I'm afraid there will be no more practice tonight, Harry," he intoned softly. "Instead, we're going to get you into bed."

Harry was more than fine with that, and uttered a mumbled "m'Kay".

Lupin took his hand from Harry's forehead – which Harry silently bemoaned – and instead placed his arm around the ailing student, steadying the boy against him.

"Come on, then," Lupin said, helping Harry walk out the classroom. "It's not that far."

Harry wondered what the professor was getting at – after all, Gryffindor tower wasn't exactly around the corner - but he was too tired to even bother to ask, and instead he concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, pulling his arms tightly around his chest to keep his shivering under control.

Lupin looked worriedly at the top of Harry's bent head as he guided the boy to the hospital wing, cursing himself for not taking enough notice of Harry being ill and allowing him to face a Boggart-Dementor when he wasn't up to it. What would Lily have to say about him now?

He was concentrating so much on minding Harry's step that he didn't notice the sallow Potions Master coming from the infirmary until they were nearly upon him.

"Lupin! Potter!" Snape barked. "Thick as thieves I see. Why am I not surprised?"

Harry's head snapped up, and he stepped away from Lupin's support, green eyes large in his pale face.

"Severus, if you would be so kind," Lupin said, gesturing for Snape to step out of the way to let them pass.

Snape glared at him. "I left your potion on your desk, Lupin. Don't forget it, or we'll all regret it, I'm sure."

"I won't," Lupin said evenly, keeping his calm even though for once he was really feeling the urge to sock the sour man a good one to get him out of the way and Harry into a bed.

"And you, Potter," Snape sneered, turning on Harry, "remember you have a detention to serve with me tonight!"

Harry groaned silently to himself, having completely forgotten about his detention. How was he ever going to get through it? He panicked slightly when he found he could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone walk all the way to the dungeons and do whatever it was that Snape would want him to do – something like skinning a barrel full of poisonous beetles or the like. Spots danced before his eyes. He brought his fingers to his forehead and wavered on his feet.

Lupin hurriedly reached over to him and pulled him against his side, steadying him again. Harry gratefully leaned his weight against Lupin, burying his face against the warm folds of his robe, not caring about his dignity anymore.

"I'm afraid Harry won't be making it to your detention tonight, Severus," Lupin intoned shortly. "He will be spending the night in the hospital wing instead. Perhaps you can reschedule the detention to next week?" It wasn't really a question.

Snape's face turned decidedly red. "I know you people are like two peas in a pod, Lupin," he growled, "but don't let the little troublemaker fool you. He's probably faking illness just to get out of detention. Aren't you, Potter?" he snapped at the silent boy.

Normally Harry would rise indignantly against such an accusation, crying out that he wasn't a liar, but the fact was that he wasn't even listening to his potions professor. Eyes closed and snuggled against Lupin's warmth, he was practically dozing standing up.

"I'm afraid you're wrong, Severus," said Lupin, feeling Harry leaning steadily heavier on his arm until he was sure it was the only thing keeping the boy on his feet. He would not stand for any more delays. "And Harry is going no where else but the hospital wing. Now, if you could _kindly_ get out of the way..."

Snape scowled, but he eyed the boy more closely, noting the paleness of his face and the high flush of fever on his cheeks, and grunted something Lupin didn't quite catch. But at last he stepped aside and stalked past them, muttering that he didn't care if Potter spent the night in the hospital wing, but he could serve two detentions next week to make up for it.

Lupin paid no attention to Snape and instead looked down at Harry, wondering if he hadn't fallen asleep right there.

He bent over and pulled the boy up in his arms, cradling him against his chest and carrying him the rest of the way into the hospital wing. Harry murmured something, but otherwise settled in the embrace, resting his head against Lupin's shoulder.

Lupin pushed the infirmary door open with his hip and walked inside. Madame Pomfrey was tending to one of the students in one of the left-hand beds, but looked up as she heard the door open. Catching his eye, she nodded and finished up helping the girl in the bed take a potion that set her ears smoking.

Hurrying over, she caught eye of who it was Lupin was carrying.

"Potter is it?" she said, sounding slightly harassed. "Did he fall of his broom again? No? Was it those Dementors again? Attacked by chimaeras, perhaps? Pushed down the stairs by a Warlock..." She gasped, having thought of the real danger, and asked in a breathless whisper: "Was it Sirius Black?"

Lupin blanched despite himself. "No, nothing like that" he said. "He wasn't feeling very well; looked ready to topple over, really, so I thought to bring him here." He looked down at the limp body in his arms. "Um, then he fell asleep on the way over."

"Oh," Madame Pomfrey said, deflating a little, but looking relieved. "Bring him over here." She pointed to a bed on Lupin's right.

"You have to excuse me," she told Lupin while pulling back the covers. "He ends up here so often in the most bizarre circumstances, that mostly I don't know what to expect."

"So I've heard," Lupin said, smiling to show that he hadn't taken offence. "The stories that circle in the teacher's lounge are quite amazing." He carefully placed Harry on the bed. The boy didn't really wake, just snuggled into the pillow and emitted a little humming sound.

"Hmm," Madame Pomfrey intoned, busily checking out her patient. She felt Harry's flushed skin, waved her wand over his chest and head, and scrutinised the sparkles that erupted from its tip.

"It's the flu," she told Lupin finally. "Most of the students who are staying this night suffer from the same affliction. It seems to be that time of year, again."

Relieved that it wasn't anything more serious – not that he'd been expecting it, but in the Wizarding World you never knew – Lupin nodded, reassured.

"I'll give him some pepper-up against the symptoms," Madame Pomfrey started listing her remedial actions, "and add some potions against headaches and nausea just in case. Also, he needs something against that fever he's sporting, as it seems to be a tad on the high side right now."

Lupin frowned a little, not liking what he was hearing.

"No worries," Madame Pomfrey told him, noticing. "Often fevers will rise at night to come down again in the morning. And I have excellent fever-reducing potions, courtesy of our Potions Master. In fact, Professor Snape has just been by to replenish the stock."

"Ah, yes," Lupin said, not really knowing how to respond to this and not feeling up to any kind remarks about his old antagonist after the unpleasant run in they'd just had. Then he remembered his own potion, waiting for him on his desk.

"Will Harry be all right then?" he asked the nurse.

"Yes, yes," she bustled, summoning the potions from her cabinet and deftly mixing them together. "He might have a bit of a rough night, but Potter will most likely join his fellow Gryffindors again in a day or two or three. He'll be back in class in no time, Professor Lupin."

"Remus if you will, Madame Pomfrey," Remus told her.

"Ah, of course, Remus," Madame Pomfrey said, blushing a little now. "You may call me Poppy of course."

"Thank you, Poppy." Remus said kindly, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said, turning to lift a watering can to a glass from the bedside table.

Before Lupin left – thinking he should make a detour past McGonegall's private chambers and Gryffindor tower to let the Head of House and Harry's friends know where the boy was staying –he cast a final look down at his friends' son. With his eyes closed and the fringe covering his scar, the boy looked more like his father than ever. Of course, in his right mind Remus would never be able to mistake the two, but it was close enough that a sharp pain of longing and grief shot through his heart. He reached and brushed the damp snarls of hair back from the hot forehead.

"Sleep well, Harry. I'll come and see you tomorrow."

TBC


	7. A Grim Night

Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who's been kind enough to leave a review. You guys are great! I know it's been slow going, but the end is near. :)

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Harry was extremely befuddled and uncomfortable. Time seemed to go by in leaps and jumps, then slow until he couldn't stand to lie still and wait for it to pass, while he was sweating and filled with aches and pains. So he tossed and turned, then slept a fevered sleep for a little while until confusing dreams woke him again. He couldn't quite remember how he got to the hospital wing, though he vaguely knew that Lupin had brought him there.

The first time he'd been made aware of where he was he'd had a nightmare. He was falling off his broomstick while Dementors waited for him to land, with wide open sucking mouths, rattling their breaths. His mother's screams accompanied his descent.

He'd woken with a shout, and Madam Pomfrey had been there in a flash. He remembered struggling to get away, while Pomfrey spoke quickly to him, explaining where he was and why. His sheets were tangled all around him. He'd fallen back to the pillows, panting, when he'd realised there were no Dementors there, just Madam Pomfrey and the Hospital Wing again, and that he was ill. He felt awful; his stomach churned, and told the patron that. When Madam Pomfrey had stepped away to get him some potions to take for it, he'd been sick all over his bedding. Though it was embarrassing enough, at least he didn't bring up much due to his empty stomach, and Madam Pomfrey had been soothing and professional, cleaning the mess with a few quick and practised charms.

She forced him to drink a potion, though he complained he didn't want it – afraid he might get sick again – but as soon as it hit his stomach a cool comfort spread through it, dismissing the queasiness and calming the ache. After another potion Harry had burrowed back in his pillow, exhausted, and Pomfrey had ordered him to rest. Harry had fully expected to have no problem with this advice.

Unfortunately his fever wouldn't leave him alone; and his hazy dreams and muddled thoughts kept waking him up or startling him back from the edge of sleep. He felt completely hypersensitive and wished his mind would leave him alone with its disturbing thoughts that made no sense. He wished it was morning already, so he could leave the murkiness of night behind.

However, he was in one of his fitful sleeps when the door to the dark hospital wing silently opened, and he never noticed the large, pink nose entering through the creak, followed by a heavy, scruffy head, which was watching and listening for a disturbance, for the nurse or for students who might be awake.

The big, black form entered the room, walking silently on his padded feet. His eyes were as fevered as those of the sleeping students' had been, but with intense, crazed obsession instead of illness. His every motion spoke of manic intent, and his ears were peaked with intense concentration. In a hasty grid, the dog started to move through the Wing like a shadow on a mission. He smelled every creak and corner, burrowed under beds and stuck his nose in bags, quickly but silently opened cupboards and closets with his nose and paws, hunted through the bathrooms… all the while sniffing for a scent, a trail, a hiding place, a lead to where he might look next. His eyes flashed with paranoia as they flickered to the doors, his hair was continually on end, aware that if someone walked through those he might be caught, and it would all be over. His search through the room was almost complete, and he was already thinking where he should go next, when one of the moving forms in the nearest bed caught his attention.

Freezing, he smelled the air to be sure. He'd been so particular to the scent he was after, that the one he caught on now had escaped his awareness. He shook himself, trying to clear the restless drive to 'keep moving, keep searching, keep going, don't stop, don't get caught before you find him.' It was hard to stop after so many months of only that, but he'd done it before, when he'd visited this very boy in Surrey, and when he'd crept to the top of the Quidditch stand to watch James' son play as seeker. He did it now, slowly padding over to the bed, his eyes riveted on the young boy's features.

Harry's face was matted with sweat, and his fringe stuck damply to his forehead. His eyes were moving rapidly behind his close lids, signifying that he was dreaming. He slept fitfully, his head turning on his pillow, his limbs moving under his blanket. He made the occasional low sound, like a restrained gasp, or a low moan. His dreams were not being kind to him.

The dog's driven features softened with tenderness. This boy was what it was all about. This was the person he wanted to protect and keep safe. This was the baby he used to hold in his arms; the little boy that used to crawl all over him and tug his tail. This was the child that made the good fight still worth fighting for.

Oh, he had personal grievances. He wanted his revenge. He wanted retribution.

But of all his old life had meant to him, all that was left was Harry. Harry, and Remus, whose scent was also strong in the castle, and who he didn't dare to come across until he'd had some tangibly proof of his own innocence. He'd pick that bone when he came across it. First, he had to sniff out the rat.

Another gasp brought his attention back to Harry. The boy's face was turned to him now, his blanket clenched in his fists, fingers tightening. His face was tense, and as he looked an expression of fear flitted across Harry's face. Bad nightmare.

Sirius knew all about those.

He couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and nudged his muzzle gently against his godson's hand, shifting it until Harry's palm was resting in his fur. He rubbed his nose against Harry's cheek and made comforting, gruff little noises.

Harry mumbled, shifted, and turned towards the offered comfort. His features settled and he sighed deeply.

Sirius took this to mean that the nightmare had passed. Whimsically, he remained a little longer, looking at Harry and allowing the boy's hand to rest on his broad head. How he wished he could stay here a while and keep Harry company while he were ill. How he wished things were different. He was supposed to be Harry's guardian, not an escaped convict on the run, trying to find and murder a man who he once called friend.

But this was the way things were, and all he could do to help now was to find the rat that dared to threaten Harry's life and rip him limb from limb, the way he had intended all those years ago, when things had gone so terribly wrong.

When he took a last look at Harry, the boy's eyes were open, and he was looking straight at him. Sirius froze in shock, wondering what Harry was thinking, and whether he would raise the alarm. Should he run for it? Should he change into himself and explain? Would Harry listen?

Yet as they stared at each other, Harry didn't make a move to shout in panic or to even question the large dog's appearance. His eyes were burning fever-bright, and Sirius doubted he was really awake or even focussing on him. Again the dog nuzzled Harry's hand, comforting him, and slowly Harry's eyes closed shut.

Sudden voices sounded just outside the door, and Sirius jumped clear of the bed, freezing in indecision for a moment until diving under Harry's bed. It was just in time as the doors to the hospital wing opened and allowed Madame Pomfrey to enter with three female students.

"She was coughing and sneezing all day," one of the girls piped up. "Looked awful, really."

"But she wouldn't come here, even though we tried to take her," another added.

"I'm fine, really!" The last called. "_Achoo!_"

"You are not fine, young lady," said Pomfrey sternly. "Now get into that bed before I make you. I'll get you your potions."

"Potions? I don't need any potions!" the girl pleaded. Pomfrey would have none of it and was already stepping into her office. "Honestly, I didn't pass out; I just … decided to take a nap. Standing up."

"Oh, is that what you call crashing to the floor like a great lump?"

"Katie, will you just get in the bed!"

"Wood'll never let me hear the end of it," the sick girl moaned. Loud coughing followed the statement. Then: "It's only three more hours until Quidditch practice begins…"

"Get. In. The. Bed." Her friend sounded dangerously close to the end of her rope.

The other said: "I'm going to _kill_ Wood."

Squatting in his hiding place, Sirius listened to the girls bickering and to Pomfrey coercing the sick girl to take her medicine and stay in the bed. Before long, the new patient was snoring. Madame Pomfrey turned to the other two girls.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to have you take some Pepper-up potion, as well," she considered.

"Oh, Madame Pomfrey, no!"

"We're not sick! Honest!"

"Yes," said Pomfrey decidedly. "That would be best. Come with me now, Miss Johnston, Miss Spinnet."

"Aww."

"And no early Quidditch practice this morning. You're going to sleep in as long as you can."

The two girls shared a glance that did not show much hope at the possibility of this happening.

"You send Mr. Wood along to me if he'll be difficult," Madame Pomfrey frowned disapprovingly. "I have some things to say to him in any way."

The girls perked up as they followed Pomfrey into her office. Sirius wasted no second. As soon as the last heel disappeared in the office, he was mobile, slinking his way to the main doors. As he quickly scanned the hallway and found it empty, he looked back at the bed with Harry in it. The boy's eyes were still closed, but he was moving around like he was waking up again. With a last sad glance, the dog disappeared from the ward as if he'd never been there.

Harry was indeed waking up. He'd had strange, upsetting dreams. He'd dreamt about his parents and Voldemort, and the green light, and there'd been dementors during Quidditch and he'd been falling and falling. He'd also heard the hooves galloping through the forest again, but this time there's been the heavy fall of large, padded paws with it, and then he'd opened his eyes and seen the Grim, waiting for him by his bed, ready to take him away.

He heard a voice exclaim "Hey, Harry's here!" and he blearily opened his eyes to see who was there to find Alicia and Angelina standing at his bed. Both of them looked down on him with worried eyes, and, strangely, with smoke pouring from their ears.

"Is it time for practice?" Harry asked them, sounding doomed.

"No!" cried Alicia, shaking her head vehemently, even as Angelina put a hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. "I'm going to _kill_ Wood!" she said through clenched teeth, which sounded awfully familiar.

"Girls, leave Mr. Potter to his rest," said Pomfrey as she moved up behind them. "You can come visit your team mates in the morning."

"Okay, Madam Pomfrey."

"Goodnight Harry, Madam Pomfrey."

"Feel better, Harry."

The girls disappeared from view, and Harry gazed around the hospital wing confusedly. He wasn't sure he understood what was going on. He felt so off kilter. He sat up, ready to get out of the bed, though he wasn't sure exactly where he wanted to go. Didn't he have to go to the Quidditch pitch?

"Potter, stay where you are!"

Harry turned his head, feeling dizzy doing so, to look at the blustering matron standing over his bed.

"There've been enough disturbances for one night," the woman said. "Back to sleep now."

Harry laid back down, surprised at how heavy his head felt. "I have bad dreams," he murmured, matter of fact. "I don't want to go to sleep anymore."

Madam Pomfrey looked down on him, her gaze softening. "I'll get you some Dreamless Sleep," she said. "You can have some now. I'll be right back."

Harry closed his eyes a moment and before he knew it she was back. He blinked up at her, wondering how she'd get so fast.

"Drink this, Potter," she coaxed him, offering him a glass. Harry drank it down with some difficulty, swallowing against the thickness of his throat. After he finished Pomfrey put the glass on his bedside table and straightened the bedclothes that were all askew on his bed.

Harry stared at her a moment, then thought he should tell her that "There was a Grim in the room."

Her head snapped up. "Don't be silly!" she said, shaken at this notion. "You're going to be fine! There's no Grim here."

"He was right there," said Harry plaintively, pointing a finger at the floor next to his bed.

"It was just a dream, dear," shushed Pomfrey, calmly again. "There are no Grims in my wing. I won't allow it."

"Oh, okay," mumbled Harry, though he wasn't convinced. Sleep was draping over him like a heavy blanket though, and before he knew it, he was under.

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TBC 


End file.
